What the middle seat and a mammogram taught me about humility

There are few things in life that test your dignity like the middle seat on an airplane.

Being wedged between two strangers—one claiming both armrests like they paid extra for the kingdom package, and the other insisting they’re two sizes smaller than they are—is a special kind of sanctifying experience. You learn real quick how flexible dignity can be when you’re trying not to ask, “Can I just… rest my elbow on the side of your rib cage for the remainder of this flight?”

For a while, I thought that was peak humiliation. Truly. I thought the middle seat deserved its own sermon series: Humility, Boundaries, and Body Heat.

Then I made the mistake of scheduling a mammogram for the very next morning.

If the airplane was humiliation, the mammogram was consecration.

I don’t know who invented that machine, but I’m convinced they never volunteered as tribute. The tech—bless her heart—told me to relax while positioning me like she was prepping brisket for a BBQ competition. Honey, I’ve seen deli meat treated more tenderly.

As I stood there getting compressed flatter than a junior high cafeteria tray, I had two thoughts battling it out:

• “This is important for my health, and I’m grateful we have access to screening.”
• “If Eve had known about this part of the curse, she might’ve put that apple back on the branch.”

Nothing humbles you faster than standing half-dressed while a stranger tells you to “hold still” so the machine can finish squeezing the evidence of your womanhood into a shape God never intended.

And that’s when it hit me:

Humiliation and humility are twin sisters

They don’t look the same… but whew, do they walk in together.

• The middle seat humbled my personal space.
• The mammogram humbled my dignity.
• Life—meanwhile—humbled my pride.

And there’s a ministry in that.

Humiliation has a way of stripping away the illusions we work so hard to maintain:

• that we’re in control
• that our image is curated
• that our boundaries are firm
• that aging can be managed with sheer willpower and a good bra

The gift underneath the awkward

Humility is what humiliation leaves behind if we let it do its work.

It teaches us to laugh at ourselves.
To thank God for modern medicine.
To accept our bodies with a little more grace.
To understand that dignity isn’t the absence of embarrassment—it’s how we carry ourselves through it.

I’ve lived long enough to know you can either fight humiliation or learn from it.

One path makes you bitter.
The other makes you seasoned… and possibly walking away with fresh imaging results.

So here’s my unsolicited, hard-earned, slightly sassy wisdom for anyone in a season of being squeezed—physically, emotionally, or spiritually:

Let the squeeze do what it came to do

Let it teach you.
Let it strip what needs stripping.
Let it humble what needs humbling.
Let it soften what needs softening.

And for the love of all things holy: schedule your mammograms.
Because while humiliation might bruise your ego, early detection can save your life.

Between the middle seat and that mammogram machine, I’ll take the squeeze that keeps me alive any day—even if my dignity has to wait in the lobby.

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.”
(1 Peter 5:6)

Turns out the squeeze isn’t just uncomfortable—sometimes it’s preparation.

With grace, grit, and a little side-eye,
Coach Liz